


Blue.

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6614080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift has a habit of vanishing when something is bothering him; Ratchet wishes he had better timing about it. Post MTMTE 51</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been awake for 23 hours and wrote this really quickly because I've wanted something like this to exist since MTMTE #44, and #51 gave the perfect opportunity for it. 
> 
> I'm sorry for any glaring mistakes. I just wanted to get this out there before any more of DOTL comes out _(:3 」∠)_
> 
> eta: fixed a couple typos

When he couldn’t find Drift anywhere around the fortress, Ratchet knew something was up. It was usually easy to tell with the damn kid. The problem was nobody had seen where he went, and that was something he should club Drift over the helm for right there: wandering off solo when the fragging Decepticon Justice Division was on the planet?

 

Had he thought any of Drift’s previous actions had hurtled him into unnecessary peril? Because this just took it all.

 

In a particular _mood_ , Ratchet folded into his alt-mode, off in search of Drift. He was really making a habit out of this, wasn’t he?

 

He made his way through seas of blue and their eerie holo-statue sentinels. The whole planet gave him a creepy feeling, like standing on a mass grave. (Which wasn’t totally correct, from what he heard, but close enough to give that weird itch under his plating legitimacy.)

 

This time he was in luck: finding Drift was simple enough as cresting the next hill and seeing Drift at the top of the next one. Muttering to himself, Ratchet shifted back to biped mode, shaking his helm as he marched up the hill approaching Drift’s back. Despite his reproach and feelings of foreboding, Ratchet walked through the ‘flowers’ with care.

 

“Drift,” Ratchet said, once he was only a few steps away, “have you completely glitched out or what? You don’t just go and wander off with the DJD setting up camp on this planet! I mean, for anyone, but _especially_ \-- ”

 

“Especially an ex-Con.”

 

Ratchet blinked. “Well. Yes.” _Obviously._ Drift was sitting, very careful not to crush any of the flowers, and with a sigh, Ratchet settled next to him just as cautiously, watching him very delicately trace his fingers over the petal of one of them.

 

“Did they tell you what -- ?”

 

“Yeah,” Ratchet cut in. “They told me. It’s damn morbid.” Impressive, sure, but still.

 

Drift sighed, picking his helm up to squint down in the valley of the hills within immediate sight. Ratchet followed his gaze, and from here it was easy to tell who the statue depicted; the lines of his frame were similar no matter what, but there was no mistaking the finials and formations of that helm.

 

It was Drift’s.

 

Ratchet let out a huff of a sigh; frag -- he should’ve known that’s what this was about.

 

“Morbid,” Drift repeated.

 

Ratchet pursed his lips. “Yes, morbid,” he said. “And obsessing over the past isn’t gonna get you anywhere in the future, kid. Got it?”

 

Drift worked his jaw, looking doubtful. “Do any of us have a future with Tarn and Deathsaurus isolating us on this planet, promising a massacre at sundown?” he said.

 

Ratchet narrowed his optics, lifting a hand to pinch _hard_ at one of those finials on Drift’s helm, drawing a sharp _“ow!”_ from the swordsmech. “ _That’s_ pretty fragging morbid, too, Drift,” he growled.

 

Exasperated, Drift shoved Ratchet’s hand away with one of his, gesturing the other around him. “What about any of this isn’t bleak?” he demanded. “If the future is unlikely, then the past is all there is, right?”

 

Growling from his engine, Ratchet reached out again, but this time to grasp Drift’s hand. “It’s not _all_ there is.”

 

Finally, Drift met his gaze. His optics were clouded with pain and regret -- sadly it was a look Ratchet was familiar with on his features. Shaking his helm, Ratchet played his fingers over Drift’s, speaking reassurances through that language of hands that was so much easier than what his stubborn vocalizer wouldn’t give form to.

 

There was so much more Drift wanted to say; Ratchet could feel it just as much as the discontent boil of Drift’s EM field against his own. But there would be time for that later. (If there _was_ a later -- Drift was right, at least, about their dire situation.)

 

It was Drift who spoke, eventually, gazing out over the blue-covered hills with his fingers still interlocked with Ratchet’s. “Is it wrong… that despite knowing what this scene is, I still find it beautiful?”

 

Ratchet sighed as he squeezed Drift’s hand. “No,” he said. It was true. Sparklight blue was always the prettiest color.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
